Perfumes of Arabia
by Tara1189
Summary: On a sultry night in Agrabah, Jafar reflects on the charms of a certain princess…


**Summary: On a sultry night in Agrabah, Jafar reflects on the charms of a certain princess… **

**I was watching **_**Aladdin **_**a couple of days ago and this story jumped into my head and would not leave me alone until I sat down and wrote it. Aladdin/Jasmine owns my heart but this was simply too delicious to pass up. And while Jafar isn't as complex a character as, say, Frollo, he's certainly one of the more **_**entertaining **_**Disney villains. ****Set pre-movie.**

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><p><em><strong>~ Perfumes of Arabia ~<strong>_

The days are stifling and the nights sultry. The heat pressing him down into the silken sheets. Reposing on the soft couch, the Grand Vizier allows a pile of gold coins to spill through his long fingers onto the patterned damask coverings, and sure enough, he does not have long to wait before a feminine form emerges through the delirious haze of incense. These women can sense a man with power and wealth, and he wields both. He knows well how to play this game. _Whoever has the gold makes the rules._

Scented oils slick on hot skin. Running in slow rivulets along the curves and domes of flesh that coil around him. Heavy, kohl-lined eyes slumberous and seductive. Jafar feels his lips curl with contempt. Such pretty, painted little fools. Still, they prattle easily enough, and with the press of a coin into their grasping hands, oh it's surprising the secrets they'll spill. Tonight, it's a name, _Gazeem, _and whispers of a scarab amulet.

Jafar sits upright at that, his dark, cunning mind immediately alert. An amulet to summon the Cave of Wonders? Could it be that he has, at last, found what he's looking for all these years? He must find this Gazeem, perhaps the Diamond in the Rough he has searching for this entire time…

Agrabah is within his grasp. So close he can almost taste it. Once he has the lamp… the lamp, the lamp, _everything _depends on it. He sees it in his dreams, gold and antique, hovering always just out of reach. But not for long…

The lanterns cast huge shadows. Around him, the air writhes with perfumes. Heat scorching the very senses. The burning incense light wavers and the rich flavour of hashish lingers on his tongue, sending his mind into a hazy world of dreams and possibilities. At the forefront of it all glows that lamp, unobtainable and mysterious, pulsing, glowing, gold, gold, gold. Shadows writhe and coalesce into a slender young woman who glares at him with heated loathing as she twirls in cloud-blue, cloud-thin garments.

A gloating smile twists the Vizier's thin mouth. Ah yes, the princess. Sweet Jasmine. That little Arabian jewel.

The dimly lit harem blurs drowsily before him as the hashish begins to work its tantalising magic, conjuring her image vividly before his half-closed eyes. Close enough to reach out and touch. Eyes like onyx. That sweet, sultry voice. He inhales the scent of spice and rare flowers. Desert winds and freedom.

The cloying aroma of burning essence ripples through the air. Falling deeper into oblivion, Jafar's

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><p>"<em>This is injustice!"<em>

_The sound of a door slamming caused the Grand Vizier to look up from the sheathes of parchment that littered his desk. These maps were cryptic at best, and how to find a mythical location in the midst of the desert? Through the long, gloomy shadows thrown by the towering pillars, Jasmine's azure-clothed figure marched towards him, straight-backed with intent. That pretty mouth pouted at him with childish frustration. Jafar smirked behind his steepled fingers and refrained from telling her that that mouth could be put to better uses. None of which required her talking._

"_Ah, princess. To what do I owe this pleasure?"_

"_Is it true what you did to that prisoner?" she demanded. "The man was only stealing for his children! You had _no _right -"_

_Jafar felt his fingers clench around the serpent-headed staff in frustration. What a tedious brat she was. However, he smoothed his features into a gracious smile. "I had every right. The law must be obeyed."_

"_His children were starving! What harm could giving them one loaf of bread possibly do?"_

"_An admirable sentiment, princess, but one that will not do you much good, I am afraid."_

_She tossed her dark head in agitation. "The man has a least a right to be heard fairly!"_

_He laughed in genuine amusement at the notion. "A common street rat?"_

"_You could have at least shown some mercy -"_

"_I did. I only ordered one of his hands to be cut off."_

_Her dark eyes widened in horror. Sometimes, it was easy to forget how sheltered she truly was. Her concern for the ignorant filth roaming Agrabah's streets never ceased to amaze him._

_Not one to be cowed, Jasmine drew herself upright, every inch the proud and petulant princess. That doting fool of a Sultan gave her far too much autonomy, Jafar decided. Someone needed to teach her some respect. He would like to see her on her knees._

"_My father will hear of this -"_

_He waved a thin hand carelessly, the gesture of casual dismissal a far cry from the forced obsequious manner he normally assumed with her. "But by all means, tell him."_

"_Oh, I will." She spun around in a whirl of black hair and shimmering gauze. He watched the hourglass sway of her hips as she stormed away and laughed quietly to himself. _Yes, run along to your simple-minded father, princess. I assure you, he will not be swayed…

_She had yet to learn that _he _was the true ruler of Agrabah. _

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><p>long fingers curl around the ephemeral form that sways and curves in brazen eroticism. Push, pull and burn. His eyes are hungry for her beauty.<p>

And there is no denying she is beautiful… the kind of beauty that would render any man her willing slave. _Almost _any man. Princes would give _kingdoms _for just one night with her. But Jafar knows better.

She is a desert flower, enticing and beautiful and deadly. So proud and so poisonous. Barbed and filled with venom beneath the dazzling exterior. He wants to sink his teeth into her and extract that venom inch by inch. He feeds off her hatred and distrust, aware of a subtle thrill that he wields even that small measure of influence over her.

In the meantime, he must be content to crawl and cringe with contemptible servility before her ageing dotard of a father. But Jafar is patient. He can afford to wait, now he knows the Sultan will not have any more children. And every day, he drips more poison into the old fool's ear, insinuates himself more fully into the walls of power, and there is a vicious satisfaction in knowing

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><p><em>He found her seated by the fountain, blue-spangled garments glittering in the sun, her slender fingers curled tightly in the rich, vivid fur of that hulking beast she insisted on keeping as a pet. Jafar's lips curled back over his teeth. By Allah, how he hated that animal. No matter how many times he insisted on the dangers of a tiger freely roaming the palace grounds, the Sultan stubbornly refused to deprive his daughter of something she felt such affection for. <em>

_As Jafar drew closer, he saw that the princess was incensed, her chest rising and falling, those expressive eyes turbulent and wilful with passion. She had never been able to conceal her emotions. Such a woman's weakness. Her mutinous expression intensified when she saw him approach. He pretended not to notice._

"_Price Djem looked most… displeased," he observed in a studiously dispassionate drawl._

"_He's not the only one," she retorted shortly._

"_I hope he did nothing to offend you."_

"_His _being _here offends me! I refuse to be bartered off like some -" Jasmine broke off abruptly, subsiding into stormy silence. He knew that she found his prying interest in her suitors disturbing._

_The Grand Vizier adopted his most cajoling tones. "It pains me to see you finding such trouble in accepting a suitable match, princess. If there is anything I can do, any council I could offer you…"_

"_Tell my father to amend the law." Beneath the haughty, imperious tone she always assumed with him, there was genuine longing in her voice. Jafar felt his mouth curve with knowing contempt. So young, such weakness._

"_Alas, princess, that is not within my power. And if the princess should not marry within the allotted time… I _shudder _to think what might become of you…"_

_On her feet at once, trembling hands balled at her sides. Dark hair fell wildly around her face that she lifted to his with defiant fury. Her low, sweet voice was sharp as a lash over the faint tinkling of the fountain. "Is that a threat?"_

_That damned tiger growled at him, a flash of predatory eyes and sharp teeth. How he would relish cutting that beast's throat. Its pelt would make a fine rug. Perhaps he would take princess Jasmine on that rug once his plans came to fruition. The thought was a delicious one. Especially looking as she was now, so flushed and disarrayed before him._

"_Not at all," he hastened to assure her. "Merely concern for your wellbeing. I _live _to serve you." His hand swept outwards as he gave her a flourishing bow. "Ever your servant."_

_He felt her mutinous eyes on his back all the way to the palace._

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><p>that the princess watches all this from the sidelines and can do nothing. The Vizier reclines further back against the cushions, lost in the scented fumes. Slanting black eyes revel in these power games. The heady rush is intoxicating, a thrill far more intense than he ever experiences between these silken sheets with a nameless host of concubines. Power is his <em>true<em> passion. And princess Jasmine has proven to be an intriguing challenge.

The dregs of hashish burn his mouth like a gulp of potent wine. Jafar feels himself fall further into the sweet, enfolding darkness. He is a viper and she is a tigress. Never troubling to sheathe her claws in his presence. The sweetness and compassion flees from her features the moment he enters a room, her heart-shaped face turned hard and blazing. He knows she would banish him in an instant. Oh, she's just _waiting _for the chance to be rid of him forever.

Yes, she may be naïve, but she's no fool. From the first, she has seen through him with a child's clear-sighted instincts. She knows his elaborate show of servility is nothing more than an act, and the more cringing and deferential he becomes, the more it seems to infuriate her. After all, she cannot fight someone who bows and acquiesces to her every word.

The idea that she thinks herself a _match _for him is laughable. And laugh he does in the pleasured-clouded depths of his mind, languid and dissolving. All she has is her status, which, as a woman, is flimsy and weak enough. The simple act of marriage would strip her of that power forever, placing it wholly in the hands of her husband.

Ah, yes. The thorny problem of her marriage.

It is no coincidence that every suitor he has suggested to the Sultan has been a tedious, pompous fool. The last thing he wants is for her to

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><p><em>Oh, it suited her, far more exquisitely than he had even imagined. The gold gleamed at her throat, the red jewel pulsing at its heart. Her slender hands fiddled with the band, as though it irritated her skin. Jafar regarded her visible discomfort with pleasure from beneath darkly hooded eyes. He had known that she could not refuse to wear the birthday offering in front of the Sultan. <em>A gift worthy of a princess, _he had said with a sly smile while the Sultan had gushed over the fine adornment, insisting his daughter thank Jafar for his kindness. The words had been forced from her lips, flat and bitter. It was only because of the presence of her father that she had allowed the choker to be placed around her throat, fury flashing in her eyes all the while. No sooner had her father left, and she was already trying to remove it._

_Black and crimson robes swept along the stone floor as Jafar approached her with deliberated slowness. Jasmine watched him, eyes narrowed with distrust. He wished now that he had imbued the gem with some sorcery of the kind he used to control her father. Her persistent defiance was becoming an annoyance._

"_I see you like my present."_

_She glared at him. "I only wore it because my father wished it."_

"_A fine necklace." He smiled around the words, his voice curving and feline._

"_A collar," she spat in contempt._

"_A gift," he corrected smoothly. He circled her, watching those fine-boned shoulders tense beneath the celestial blue fringe of her bedlah top. But she stood her ground, defying his ownership of her, just as she denied his ownership of her foolish and gullible father._

"_You will do its beauty justice." Long fingers curled around her heavy braid of dark hair, lifting it over her shoulder under the pretext of examining the choker more closely. He exhaled against her skin. "As I said… ravishing."_

_She wrenched herself away from him. Her glance of withering contempt scorched hotter than desert suns. "I want nothing of yours touching me," she hissed._

_The Vizier drew himself up to his full height, tall, lean figure towering over her. Her head barely at a level with his shoulders_. _He thought he saw brief fear flicker in her eyes, but she did not back down. "Now, Jasmine. Must there always be this animosity between us? We both only want what is best for Agrabah, I'm sure."_

_He saw that she shuddered at his insidious, caressing tones as though a snake had slithered over her skin. The gesture caused the Vizier to clench his teeth. She made no secret of the fact that he repulsed her. Something would have to be done about that. He immediately resolved that one day - be it through guile or sorcery - he would have her _begging _for him._

"_What _you _think is best for Agrabah and what I think best are two very different things." Through the fringe of dark lashes, her obsidian gaze was filled with hatred. She would not say any more, but she didn't need to. He knew at once that she suspected him, and she knew that he knew it. Well, let her suspect. One petulant little princess was not going to get between him and the power he desired. She would keep her pretty mouth shut and be wise enough not to hinder him… or she would die._

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><p>fall in <em>love, <em>which, for someone as tediously sentimental as her, he suspects would not be hard_. _He has discerned the looks of wistful longing that peer out from behind her defiance. For all her spirit, she is still a girl, unwise in the ways of the world, while he has power, experience, and most of all, patience. No woman can match his cunning and wits, especially not a youthful, impetuous mind such as hers. She still thinks the world is a fairytale. How he will enjoy stripping her of that idealism. Far better to disillusion that romantic mind and embitter her against any royal suitor, until…

_Who knows, _a voice whispers beguilingly in his head, _she might even come to you willingly. _To succeed where countless suitors have failed would be another power he could hold over her. And there is nothing worth pursuing but power.

He could take her out with sorcery or poisons, but how much sweeter it will be to make her _succumb._ And she will, he is certain of that. Whether it will be for one night or a hundred means little to him. He will of course kill her eventually. But he would like to have a taste of her first.

For all her seductive qualities, she is still innocent. Untouched. A lush, ripe fruit that no man has yet tasted. Coupled with her passion and fiery temperament, it serves as an irresistible aphrodisiac. There is something deliciously tempting in the thought of being the one to break through that veneer of innocence. Her beauty, power and position all outweigh the disadvantages of her aggravating personality. And surely the reward of _claiming_ her would be well worth the trouble she has caused him thus far…

The perfume continues to burn in the incense holders. Warmth courses lazily through his body as he dreams. To tear the light blue fabrics from her diminutive frame, so tantalising in the revealing glimpses of bare skin that flash through the gauzy material. He imagines her dressed in red, the crimson heightened against her golden skin and darkly flashing eyes, as though she were clothed in fire. Exposing her lithe form to his hungry gaze. Soft flesh to taste, to run his long, ringed fingers over. Trapping her in a serpent-like embrace.

Perhaps she would strike him, unleash that vicious tongue as she railed her hatred of him… at first. But hatred is a passion like any other, and can be turned to more… pleasing directions. Oh, his tiger will be tame as a kitten once he has dealt with her. She will be pliant and willing and obedient. And just as she smiles up at him, sweet and sated, waiting breathlessly on his next command, abased and prepared to do _anything _he says… then, _then_ he will kill her.

**END**


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